


Life and Death and New Magic

by Zinfandel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Touch-Starved, graphic descriptions of magical injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: Newt removes his shirt and unwraps his torso to examine the spread of the obscuri infection. One bright side to the situation is that he is getting a lot of primary sourced information on Obscuri wounds thanks to Credence.





	

It happens by accident, as most things do.

Newt is well experienced in potentially fatal accidents, he practically deals in them as if they are their own industry. The creatures he rehabilitates are dangerous, scared, and in pain when he finds them, and he cannot blame them their last ditch defenses. 

Credence is no different, as Newt observes. He has a hard time sometimes recognizing Credence’s behaviors aren’t merely instinctive animal reactions. They are most certainly that, but Credence was also trained by years of abuse and the mental batterings he suffered have compounded his base backlashes with a severity of depth Newt fears. 

It took weeks to convince the man that his very being wasn’t anathema, to coax him into accessing his inborn magical abilities, to start to learn to control his overwhelming powers.

And they were certainly overwhelming.

Luckily the tundra region of his suitcase wasn’t housing any creatures that couldn’t survive elsewhere, is all Newt means. 

It is a difficult sort of rehabilitation he is attempting here, because Newt cannot stay objective. One, it would be detrimental towards Credence as a human and fellow magician to regard him clinically, and two, Newt doesn’t want to.

He likes Credence for all his setbacks and fluctuating emotions. Inside, Newt sees a shimmering goodness that wants nothing more than to overcome the ties that have bound it for over two decades. For example, when they sit down in the evenings for dinner, after a long day of duties and learning, Credence really becomes human.

He doesn’t have much to say yet, but the slump of his shoulders has changed. They fall back now instead of forward, and his face has smoothed out. The stress lines in his skin, around his eyes that Newt thought may be permanent fall away. Credence is finding peace in their routines and learning to trust again with a proper disregard of betrayal.

Then of course, everything shatters around them.

And in his desperation to maintain what he has built, Newt lies. 

And now he is paying for his lie, but honestly speaking, Newt doesn’t know what good it would do to tell Credence the truth. Credence wouldn’t handle it well and they’ve made such progress and, alright, the progress is going to mean very little in a few months when Newt inevitably dies, but hopefully by then Newt can impart to Credence all things of import and Credence can survive on his own.

He can only hope.

Newt shifts and chews on the hem of his shirt he holds between his teeth to keep it out of the way as he inspects his ribs. 

With a small shift, his skin rasps against itself, dried flakes sloughing off. It’s painful, this wound, and nothing he has tried yet seems to work. His skin has become like rain droughted river beds, dried and caked, cracking and splitting. Sometimes the wound bleeds when he makes sudden unthinking movements, but mostly nothing but dust falls from it.

The wound absorbs everything it contacts: healing potions, Dittany, charms, salves, creams, water, blood,  _ magic _ . Newt has tried everything he can think of, even medicinally used secretions from his creatures, like their saliva, any blood he can freely take, skin oil, and even some poisons all to no effect.

And it’s spreading. Slowly of course, but Newt feels it at it digs its barren fingers down into his flesh. He thinks some bone might be getting infected now. He is very careful how he moves. 

With a sigh, Newt tucks his shirt back in and stares down at his lap.

He doesn’t know what to do. Credence was beside himself after Newt managed to calm him from his panic when it happened less than week ago. 

It was such a minor thing too.

They were working on control, on breathing, on helping Credence to feel his magic and the obscurus it had manifested into; into integrating it and releasing it and all things necessary for Credence to learn so that he might regain the use of his magic as an extension of his will instead of just his emotions.

And Credence’s frustration with himself boiled over, Newt could see it happening and didn’t have the words to reassure him.

They ended with Newt on the ground, cringing into the dirt and clutching at his side in pain and Credence wailing as he pawed at him terrified and half disintegrated into ash.

It took time but Newt shoved down his pain and distress to pull Credence against him and grip him to his chest and coax his body back dense. 

Credence fretted over him afterwards as Newt assured him he could and had healed whatever hurt Credence had done. And for a bit, Newt thought he had, too.

Well, it turned out he lied to himself as well. Newt is not getting better he is getting worse, and by the rate of infection he is at right now he only has roughly three months until his entire body leaches of water and magic, and mostly likely only a month till he can no longer hide the wound. 

Another huff and Newt carefully picks himself up. He shuffles through the stacks of books and crates that clutter the main workroom of his suitcase to the canvas draped doorway to Credence’s bedroom. He knocks on the thick tentpole holding up the fabric.

“Morning, Credence. I’ve put the coffee on.” He hears the rustling of bedsheets as Credence quietly rises from bed, and Newt leaves him to his morning ablutions. 

…

Credence is getting anxious, he senses something is wrong and Newt’s heart aches as he watches him shuffle off with a bucket in hand to feed the stand of rare crystalline Horklumps Newt has been coaxing in population for a while. 

Credence has been reticent after his bout with control, it worries him.

He is receptive to their conversations still, but his shoulders are hunching up again and his face is drawn. He moves with an economy of motion that screams forced and painful control. Just watching him pull away hurts.

With a decision, Newt follows him over to the shaded garden grove where he is kneeling in the dirt and digging a small hole with bare hands. The Horklumps are ever so slowly uprooting themselves as they catch on to the purpose of Credence’s presence. 

“Here, let me help.” Newt says softly as he rolls up his sleeves and digs his hands into the soil alongside Credence. 

Credence stiffens up in response, but doesn’t say anything or disengage from the interaction. 

Soon the hole is dug and Credence sits on his knees as he tips the bucket of earthworms into the basin. Newt starts to cover the squirming pile up with the dirt when he feels the brush of a Horklump against his hip. 

He grins and picks the creature up, uprooting whatever tendrils were left in the soil. Then, he holds her out to Credence and watches her base tendrils squirm in the air, eager to dig back into the dirt and the meal hidden below it. 

“Here, you can give her the best spot, she will spore soon.” He tries.

Sometimes he thinks he should feel a bit guilty relying on his menagerie to aid him in his social interactions, but Newt tries to never dwell on bad feelings long. 

Hesitant like he wasn’t before, Credence gently takes the Horklump and holds her aloft as she begins to squirm and twist her stalk trying to get down having smelt the freshly turned dirt and worms below.

The other Horklumps are crowding around them now.

“Go on, she’ll thank you for it.” He coaxes.

Credence nods and softly places the Horklump right in the center of the mound they dug. She immediately twists her tendrils into the dirt and her bell cap shakes in pleasure. The two of them stay kneeling in the dirt to watch as the rest of the mushroom-like creatures crowd in to get their fair share of lunch.

Newt can’t help his grin as he watches them reroot, completely enamored with how well they are taking to his care and how quickly they are multiplying. Soon the Crystal Horklumps will be populous enough to split them and relocate them to well secluded and protected magic forests all over northern europe. 

After a  moment, Newt picks himself up then holds out his hands to help Credence to his feet as well.

Credence takes his hands and pulls himself up putting a little more weight into Newt’s care than he expected. He stumbles forward a little and the miscalculation is suddenly more extreme than he wanted.

His ribs twinge as his body compensates for Credence’s weight, and he feels a fissure in the wound pull apart. With an involuntary gasp, Newt lets go of Credence and steps back, hand halfway to his side before he can control it and force it down.

“...Newt?” Credence asks slow and careful, his head bowed to make himself shorter than Newt. 

“Sorry, sorry. Just stiff is all,” Newt stammers, unable to quite look at Credence directly. “I’ll just - I’m just going to...prepare the dressing change for Prudence. I’ll...be in the workshop.” 

He is ashamed of himself as he flees and can’t quite quantify all the reasons why Credence’s resigned nod hurts almost as much as his wound does. 

…

He knew he couldn’t keep this from Credence forever, but Newt wishes he had a bit more time. Time especially to figure out what to say, how to prove to Credence that this isn’t his fault, not really. 

The choice isn’t his in this matter though. 

He has taken to binding his ribs now to keep the dust of the wound contained and to give him a bit more support so he doesn’t twist in any wrong directions and potentially splinter any brittled bones. 

It’s late at night and Credence should be asleep by now, so Newt removes his shirt and unwraps his torso to examine the spread of the obscuri infection. One bright side to the situation is that he is getting a lot of primary sourced information on Obscuri wounds thanks to Credence. 

Newt huffs a small deprecating laugh at the thought. 

Gingerly, he touches at the wound and the black cracks in it. His skin has turned grey and ashen and the edges of the infection are an inflamed red as it spreads. He tries not to touch it too much because the dust is his flesh literally eroding away. 

Tonight he plans to slather a thick hydrating cream on it to see if he can at least slow out the drying. 

Newt turns to his mortar and pestle while bringing a pitcher of water to his lips and gulping down half of it. He is finding himself dehydrating at quite high rates now, and his magic seems to be less effective as well. The correlations are clear. Typical Obscuri devour their hosts magic from within, so this wound draining him of his is quite in line, though rather inconvenient. 

He begins to pluck leaves from his multitude of plants and throws them into the mortar bowl, then adding a few drops of different kinds of oils.

A hitching gasp breaks the quiet.

Newt freezes where he stands, back to the sound.

“N-Newt?”

He turns his side away from Credence to stop him from seeing the expanse of his injury as he shifts to face him just a bit more. Newt makes eye contact with his step ladder instead of Credence and inhales a very careful breath. 

“Credence.” He murmurs, apprehensive.

“Is that…” Credence breathes and takes a step closer.

“Did you need something?” Newt deflects. 

Credence is almost trembling, Newt can see his fingers quiver as his hands stay perfectly still at his sides. “I did that. Y-you said...Newt, you said-”

“It’s not your fault Credence, I’m working on it, I told you.”   
  
“It’s  _ spread _ , Newt! It’s all down your back-” and Credence’s bleak voice chokes off on a whine.

Newt can’t make himself fully face Credence and can’t quite look straight at him either, his guilt and nerves preventing him. This doesn’t stop him from seeing his friend lose the battle of will over his body as he begins to tremble and suck in a couple quick shallow breaths.

“Shh, Credence, I’m alright,” Newt consoles from afar and holds his hands out. “I’m ok, Credence, don’t blame yourself.”

“You’re hurt. I hurt you.  _ I hurt you _ . Y-you’re dying aren’t you. That’s why you’ve been acting differently you’re dying and i’ve k-killed you.” Credence sniffs.

Newts eyes are finally pulled to focus on Credence and he is crying, tears glinting on his cheeks, his face red and blotchy, nearly quaking in distress. 

“No, Credence. You’re not-”

“ _ Don’t lie to me _ !” Credence howls and his control is slipping with his deteriorating composure. He is growing desperate and panicky. “I’ve killed you- I’ve killed you, Oh god. Oh  _ god _ , Newt I-I’m-”

“Credence, Credence please. Come here, it’ll be alright, come here, please,” Newt tries.

“I’m sorry, I’m s-so so sorry, Newt-” He sobs as he steps closer blinking tears from his eyes as his pupils and irises fade out.

Credence has his hands raised and imploring as he stumbles, gasping short shallow too-fast breaths and Newt has to let him come to him. His eyes have whited out completely and the black wool of his jacket is starting to shave off into swirling soot and bleed it’s consuming color into Credence’s white shirt and across his pale skin. He’s breaking apart in front of Newt’s very eyes and he aches like a septic wound for him, for how he wasn’t adept enough to prevent this, to spare Credence this trauma. 

Then, on Credence’s next faltering step, Newt blanches. The obscurus infection in his flesh reacts to Credence’s proximity and bites in to Newts nerves. He flinches from the pain, and it’s the exact wrong move.

Credence stops, his eyes wide and unfocused. Instead of reaching for Newt, Credence instead grips at his hair, stumbles back and away. Newt doesn’t know why for a wild incomprehensible moment until Credence trips over a stack of books and crashes to the ground with a wail. 

Ignoring the pain, Newt hastens over to him. Credence curls into himself, fingers tight in his short hair. Newt touches his shoulder.

The reaction is immediate and violent. Credence flinches hard and scrambles back. He wedges himself between the bookcase and a barrel and Newt watches, horrified, as the edges of his very person seem to blur.

“Nnnno-!” Credence bawls and his fingers shift from his hair to his face and they dig into his skin harshly. “No nonono. D-donnn, nnn’t” He babbles through gasping panicked breaths. “Don’t t-touch, I hurt you. I hurt you-Ihurtyou-”

And Newt can’t take it anymore. 

He throws himself down to his knees, wound and pain be damned and reels Credence into his arms. “Credence, Oh Credence, please-”

But Credence thrashes violently and twists in Newt’s grip.   
  
“ _ No _ !” He wails as he struggles to get away, but his hands clutch at Newt’s arms regardless, so he pulls him tight against his chest, pressing Credence’s back directly into his ribs. He hooks his chin over Credence’s shoulder, even if that shoulder shifts and grits against his skin with an unnatural elasticity no normal human body possesses. The man is barely holding it together; obscurial soot scrolls across the floorboards.   
  
“ _ No! I’ll kill you! You’ll die- you’ll die and it’s all my fault- _ ”

“Shhh, shhh Credence, I’m fine. Come back. Come back to me now…” Newt rumbles.

It takes a moment marked by Credence’s rapid gasps, but suddenly he shifts and twists again in Newts arms this time not trying to escape. Instead, he wraps himself around Newt and crawls fully into his lap, burying his nose right into the corner of his neck. 

“That’s it. That’s it Credence, I’m not dead, I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m-” His words hitch, and he stops the litany to hug him even more tightly. 

The pain in the wound flares back to the forefront of Newts mind and it throbs with his heartbeat. He can’t help his groan and it only seems to catalyze Credence’s sobs, but Newt lets go of his tight grip on Credence to pet one hand into his hair. 

Gritty sand-like obscurus soot trickles through his fingers, and he himself trembles along with Credence, in pain and overwhelming emotion. Slowly, he begins to rock back and forth, the action a mindless holdover from his mother when he was young. It does something to them both. Credence’s sobs soften until he’s crying and sniffling against Newt’s bare shoulder, and Newt rubs at his hair and down his back. 

“There we go, that’s it. We’re alright, We’re ok, We’re  _ oh _ -”

The reaction in himself is instantaneous. Credence shifts his hands on Newt’s back and his palm skims over a part of his infected flesh.

Newt immediately melts with a surprised little yip.

“N-Newt?!” Credence pants, alarmed, because he is now the one holding Newt up as he slumps back, going boneless.

“Newt, what-are you ok?” Credence shakes him a little and Newt is absently aware that Credence is working himself up into a panic again.

With a monumental effort born from the sudden onslaught of relief and exhaustion, Newt twists his fingers into Credence’s hair where they never left, tugging a bit. “Wow. Yes. Yes, Credence, I’m...I’m good. I’m so very good right now, how are you?”

And Credence replies with a thready whine deep from his chest as he hugs tightly against Newt once more. “You’re dying, I’m  _ terrible _ …”

“Surprisingly enough, I don’t actually think I am….anymore.” Newt mumbles, his lips feeling lax. He grins a weary thing and pets at Credence. “What did you do?” 

Credence adjusts his position slowly, loosening their embrace and attempting to put some distance between them. “I-I didn’t do anything-what-?”

“Ah, ah-” Newt gulps. “P-put your hand back where it was please?” 

Credence wordlessly obeys, holding Newt in a gentler hug now. “Newt?”

“It...ah, appears that your touch soothes the pain.”

“The pain…” Credence dully repeats.

“I have plenty of theories on why exactly that is, but I cannot seem to quite grasp the concept at the moment. Maybe in the morning?” 

Credence nods in a sad resignation as he rests his chin on Newts shoulder. 

“Hoo, ok…” Newt breathes and lets Credence hold him. 

Some time passes in their silence, Newt’s thoughts scattered and ungraspable. Credence is breathing smoothly against him, not protesting or budging his position. It must be uncomfortable for him to hold himself like this, but he is valiantly silent and bearing the responsibility. 

“I think we’ve both had a trying day, let’s see about going to bed, hm?” Newt says gently after another few moments, coaxing Credence to move. 

Credence does, hesitantly so, and Newt moves with him. He lets Credence go and places his palm over his, shifting Credence’s touch to rest on his ribs in the front, where his skin is nearly soot black. Credence stares at the dry rotted patch under his fingers, his face blank and shuttered. Newt can’t very well do much about it right now though as he helps Credence to stand with him. 

After some awkward and silent shuffling, Newt manages to lead them both into Credence’s room. His hammock wouldn’t be accommodating for them both, so he leads them over to Credence’s bed instead. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Newt finally asks as he stares down at the unmade sheets.

Credence shakes his head and moves no further, keeping his hand resolutely on Newt’s ribs.

“You can, uh...change into your night clothes if you need, I’ll be alright.”

Credence shakes his head again, more firmly.

“Alright, ok, here…” Newt says and shifts them around until he’s pushing Credence down onto the mattress. 

He has to break contact with Credence for a moment then as he gets into the linens himself and he grits his teeth to not cry out from the enormity of the pain that washes back into him. He hadn’t really noticed the severity of it since it gradually worsened over the past week, and Newt has, if nothing else, an alarmingly high pain threshold. He definitely notices it now due to its sudden resurgence, and the extent of it is alarming.

But the moment doesn’t last because Credence yanks him in from behind and presses Newt’s back firmly against his chest, his hands sliding under Newt’s side and elbow to hug him from behind. Credence very purposefully strokes both of his hands over Newt’s front and finds the most deteriorated parts of his wound to press his palms against. 

His hold is firm, but where Newt would have guessed to find pain from the pressure of his grip, he instead finds himself anchored in blissful numbing warmth. Credence is like a stove behind him, his hands like a copper warming pan and Newt finds it hard to hold onto consciousness.

“Are you alright, Credence?” He manages in quiet slurred words.

He doesn’t catch the reply.

…

The next day, Newt finds he really cannot complain. 

He feels fine, good even, though his range of movement is pretty limited. This is due in most part to the crumbling wound still in his side, but also because Credence is now a permanent fixture at his back, one hand against his skin at all times.

Newt had to forego putting a shirt back on when they woke. 

He doesn’t mind much, Credence hasn’t made one comment either way, though.

Newt doles out halved oyster shells to the floating watery enclosure housing his two Murtlaps while Credence holds the platter for him. He muses that it’s quite nice to have a third hand sometimes.

But he knows this arrangement cannot last. 

Credence would never stop, Newt knows of course. But this is no life for either of them to live and Newt must find out some way to reverse the damage to his body, or to leave Credence where he knows he cannot follow.

It’s a bitter pill, and Newt frowns as he sips an oyster from it’s shell for himself. 

They retire back to the workshop where Newt prepares lunch. And as they sit together on the same side of the table, Newt broaches the subject.

“Credence.” He feels him tense up, they are so close Credence can do nothing to hide his reactions, Newt feels like he’s a terrible invasion of his privacy. 

“Can you describe to me what you are doing when you touch the wound?”

Credence takes his time to answer, and Newt watches his brow furrow and feels his fingernails scrape against his now charcoal-like skin. 

“I don’t think...i’m doing anything? I’m sorry.”

“No no,” Newt is quick to reassure him. “Don’t be sorry. Will you work with me to figure out a cure?”

“Of course.” Credence says firmly even if his gaze is cast down to his lap.

“Thank you, we can get to work after lunch. Eat up.” 

…

It takes three days, but they do work it out. 

Credence has been nothing but helpful and complacent the entire time. It was starting to really worry Newt, but they did it, they did and Credence could fix it and everything would be better.

Right?

“That’s it Credence. Careful now, just like we discussed,” Newt urges him gently on. 

They sit out in the shaded grass just inside the animal habitats. Newt sits shirtless like he has acclimatized to, and Credence is right in front of him, his legs crossed under himself. He has both of his hands on Newt’s skin now, one palm flat on either side of his ribs. Newt likes the touch, and he thinks he may miss it, but he cannot quite differentiate whether he likes Credence’s hands on him for the soothing properties they provide to his infection or if the warmth of Credence’s fingers provide an altogether different comfort. 

It is an experiment for later.

“Remember,” Newt says softly because he sees Credence tense up with anxiety, feels his fingers tremble against him. “We both know how good you are at binding already. This is just like that, just like pulling back in, coming back together, compressing, reducing.” 

He reaches up and gently wraps his fingers around each of Credence’s wrists. Newt smiles. “It’s alright if you can’t do it right now too you know. You can’t make it any worse than it has already become, the only way is forward.”

Credence doesn’t nod or acknowledge Newt, his eyes are fixed upon his hands, his fingers tremble.

“I know you won’t hurt me Credence, you never wanted to. We both know this. You can do this if you want it, it’s all up to you.”

Credence huffs and incredulous thing but doesn’t comment.

Newt tightens his grip for a moment and tips his gaze down to watch Credence’s fingers.

Ever so quietly, Newt whispers “I trust you, Credence.”

And Newt patiently sits. They had discussed extensively the procedure after theorizing it for a day and half. Essentially, all Credence needs to do is withdraw his power from residing in Newts body; to extract the parasitic magic back into himself. Of course, Newt never called the obscurus such a thing, but Credence’s tense features were clue enough. 

He wishes there was a better way to describe it, but the very nature of obscurials are parasitic. Credence is just such an immensely powerful wizard that he glutted his obscurus at a younger age and overwhelmed it. 

At least that is Newt’s theory. 

Regardless of what became of the parasitic magic entity within Credence, now he is more of an unaccountably powerful dark wizard harnessing his extraordinarily chaotic natural ability. And he does restrain it extraordinarily well. His entire unconscious training from the cruel hands of Mary Lou Barebone is in confinement. This should be more than easy for Credence.

If only Credence would trust himself more.

Newt continues to wait.

It is long minutes before Credence huffs in frustration.

“Credence-”

“No,” he says, keeping his head down. It is the first word that is not a mechanical response Newt hears from him in three days.

“Credence it’s fine we’ll try again another time.”

“No. No i’ll do it. I’m doing it. I’ll do it right now.”

Newt waits indulgently.

Ever so carefully, he begins to recognize a foreign sensation. It trickles into his flesh on delicate coils of magic. Newt gasps.

Credence flinches.

“No, Credence. You are doing good. Amazingly good. I can feel it, please keep going.” Newt mutters.

He does feel it too. He can recognize the sensation of magic inching into him, foreign magic not of his body’s own make. Credence’s magic is unfathomable to him. He perceives glimpses of it’s darkness, but it's not a void, it's a deep and dense thing, a pigment of everything instead of a lack of anything. And it’s chaotic, wild, alien. This must be the obscurial’s influence on Credence’s nature, what his magic has mutated into after decades of repression. 

Newt finds it fascinating and utterly sad. 

No.

It's not sad, that is him projecting ingrained history onto something completely without equal. Newt shifts his disposition, and feels awash with the potential, the hope.

Black fingers grip into him, and he feels the weak wisps of his own magic respond.

His breaths are shallow and frequent but calm and Newt realizes he closed his eyes.

Opening them, he stares directly at Credence. Credence who is lost in concentration. His eyes white and glowing like stars, his hair wisping up in a delicate self contained wind. The edges of his presence blur and shift as loops of blackened sand-like particles slough from his dark hair and shoulders. 

He is dissolving from his body in a gentle and strangely soothing manner, yet still completely solid. Newt glances down.

Credence’s hands are coal black up to his wrists. The blackness scrolls up his arms, under Newt’s fingers and it is the infection that was growing in his body. He watches the physical manifestation of magic far too powerful for himself to contain return back home.

His magic wants to follow, too. There is so little left at his disposal Newt is loath to release it, but he does allow some of himself to follow Credence back. It lightens his fingertips in a soft glowing orange.

But, Credence gasps at the sensation and yanks his hands away and out of Newt’s grasp.

His eyes are wide and Newt watches with a fascinated and calm smile as they darken back to the rich chocolate brown they normally are. 

“Credence.” 

Credence instead looks down at Newt’s torso. “You’re bleeding,” He says dully. 

Newt looks down as well and the vast area of his skin that had dried out with the obscurus infection was now red, raw, and cracked, bleeding freely with fresh healthy blood. Newt couldn’t help his growing and giddy smile.

“So I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> welp.
> 
> [Visit me on tumblr! I am taking Fantatastic Beasts writing prompts :)](http://www.zinfandelli.tumblr.com)


End file.
